


Control Issues

by alesca_munroe



Series: Control [1]
Category: Original Work
Genre: Control Issues, Gen, Minor Violence, Paramilitary, Spycraft, mentions of BDSM
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-02-08
Updated: 2013-03-09
Packaged: 2017-11-28 14:38:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 7,269
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/675517
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alesca_munroe/pseuds/alesca_munroe
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“It’s like you don’t want them to trust you.”<br/>“I don’t need them to trust me- I just need them to do what I say.”</p><p>In which the trainees learn more, and Oliver is right about Jonathan being a softie.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Oliver goes into the field. Jonathan has his back.

Oliver sighs as alarms go off all around the mall, wondering why this always happens to him. He puts the clothing he meant to buy at the back of a rack, hopes he’ll be able to find them later, and pulls out his phone. ”Hello, Jonathan. It’s going about as well as expected.”

Across the line, Oliver can hear the utter calm of Jonathan’s control room. Jonathan gives his orders in a clipped, cool tone and then answers Oliver. ”Yes, we’re aware. Your cell puts you in the far south side of your quadrant; head west.”

Oliver acts accordingly, the only calm person around. He’ll have strong words for his asset later. That is, if Jonathan doesn’t get him first. ”We weren’t supposed to have electronic trackers on this one because of the risk,” Oliver reproves. ”It’s quite stalker of you.”

“‘Stalker’ is not an adjective and you know me. I don’t like the idea of people messing with my stuff.”

“I like how you’ve reduced me to a favored toy.” Oliver reaches out and grabs Henry by his collar. Moving his phone away, Oliver hisses, “You and I are going to have _words,_ young man.”

Henry blanches and Oliver despairs of his ever becoming a viable asset. Jonathan starts talking as Oliver puts his phone back to his ear. ”Not _a_ favored toy,” Jonathan purrs, too low for his operatives to hear. ” _My favorite._ That makes you _special._ ”

“I should be worried more about that.” Oliver isn’t at all. He ducks under the arm of a man shamelessly shoplifting, practically tripping Henry to keep him from being clotheslined. They make it outside without further incident. ”Jonathan-“

“There’s an alley across from from you,” Oliver’s oldest friend tells him, all business now. ”Go down six blocks; you’ll get a pick up.”

“Not a literal pick-up, I hope.” Oliver doesn’t look back at the sound of sirens; Henry does, and almost walks into a dumpster. ”I can’t be seen in a pick-up.”

“Prissy bitch. This is the thanks I get for rescuing you.”

“You would have anyway. I’m your favorite, remember?”

Jonathan groans. ”Should've known you'd find a way to twist that against me. You won’t let me forget that ever will you.”

Oliver chuckles. ”Maybe at the heat death of the universe.”

Jonathan grumbles affectionately, stopping as one of his operatives poses a question. ”Ollie, not like I don’t know the answer to this one, but my guys feel better if I ask- do you have the kid?”

“Yes, unfortunately. He understands we’ll have words about this when we get back.”

Oliver can hear the smile in his voice. ”I’m surprised you’re not tearing into him right now.”

“That’s because I’m not you, Jonathan. I understand the benefits of delayed gratification.”

“And I like my cheap shots.”

Oliver and Henry meet their ride. It’s a rusted pick-up truck.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Less a debrief than it should be.

“We’re back,” Oliver announces, scathing, once he enters the conference room and Jonathan has to smother his grin before turning to face him; while he enjoys seeing Oliver's feathers ruffled, he also has an image to maintain here.

Behind Oliver, Henry looks absolutely dismal. Granted, even Jonathan can recognize that Oliver is (near-legitimately) pissed, but his anger is nothing in comparison to the one coming. Jonathan looks at the field trainee coldly. “Well, do you know where you went wrong?”

The actual answer is probably more along the lines of ‘joining this band of madness’ or at least ‘switching from analysis to field work’ but Henry, an alarming shade of gray under his multitude of freckles, starts stammering something about alarm systems and bad intel. Before he can get very far, Ethuil blazes in. She was paired with Henry, doing the bulk of the work while he learned and watched her back, or at least that was the original plan. Oliver does not feel guilty about not wondering how she made it back; she is a consummate professional and would have taken the exit they had planned on before entering the target location, and while Jonathan was talking to Oliver, another operative would have been talking to her.

Ethuil heads straight toward Henry more threateningly than a woman in a pencil skirt and four inch heels should be able to manage. “What the hell do you think you were doing?” Ethuil demands. Her heels put her eye to eye with the man. “When you get orders to cover your partner, that’s what you do. You don’t run at the first sound of an alarm or a plan going sour and you sure as  _shit_ don’t head straight for your on-site handler because now instead of only one of you getting made, now both of you are. Now, what was our contingency plan?”

“Wh- um, it was- that is-” Henry stutter.

“It’s not a hard question,” Oliver snaps.

“Answer her,” Jonathan orders, soft and sharp and not to be trifled with.

Henry looks ready to cry. Jonathan points to the door and the trainee bolts. Oliver waits for the door to shut to say, “I need a tetanus shot. That _rust bucket_ you sent for us is not only an affront to my sensibilities, but also a health hazard and why on  _Earth_ would you keep something like that in the vehicle pool?”

“What is it with the recruiting process these days?” Ethuil wants to know. She leans against the conference room table and looks about as harmless as a shark. “He shouldn’t be so easily scared off.”

“Don’t get me started,” Oliver gripes and starts writing his after action report. “You know how much worse it is to have to sit back and  _watch_ the train wreck than it is to be on the train as it’s happening.”

Ethuil’s expression clearly states how much she begs to differ. She turns to Jonathan. "Oh, and speaking of rides, the next time I get a  _bus pass_  instead of car keys, I'm strangling you with your own tie."

Jonathan ignores the threat; if Ethuil were intent on killing him, she wouldn't give advance warning. Instead he remarks idly, “One of these days, some trainee is going to figure out that the scenario is  _supposed_ to go wrong.”

“Let’s talk about that.”

All three turn to the door where Felix stands. “Sup, boss?” Jonathan asks because while his subordinates think Jonathan is cold through and through, it doesn’t preclude him from being overly casual where they can’t see. If it happens to also be a subtle reminder that nothing would stop Jonathan from walking out the door, well. At least it is only their small number here.

Felix scowls, shadow and fire in a room lit with cold blue light. It's a hopelessly romantic view of the man, but Max had said it one day and it stuck with Oliver. The lines of his suit are sharp and clean and Oliver can hardly tell he is fresh off a flight from France and has not slept in thirty-six hours. “Stop scaring off the help. There's a difference between teaching them how to deal with sudden challenges in the mission and what I saw you do on-scene and here in this room. You may be the best here-”

“You say such sweet things.”

“-but that doesn’t do me any good when you decide again to end up bleeding out in an alley-”

Jonathan’s smile fades.

“-or fall off the grid for six months where we mothball this place because we think we’ve been compromised-“

Ethuil’s anger, nearly always hot and usually amped up to eleven for the sake of scaring trainees and operatives alike into doing their jobs, turns cold in a heartbeat and her hand twitches toward the small of her back where Jonathan knows she keeps a gun.

“-or end up six thousand miles in the wrong direction because you felt your handler was wrong.”

“He was,” Oliver mutters and Oliver is a grown-ass adult who shouldn’t be able to make petulant seem almost like a rational response. Jonathan’s own ire at that particular situation is unmatched, but now is neither the time nor the place to rehash that argument.

Felix points out of the room, ostensibly towards the trainees in another conference room. “Do it right.”

After staring them down for a moment, Felix walks off. The three hear Max fall into step with him, and then collectively sigh. “I’ll get the kids ready for you,” Ethuil says to Jonathan and heads towards the trainees. Jonathan may be in a long-term, committed relationship, but watching Ethuil leave a room is one of the highlights of his day. Whether it’s because her legs are fantastic or because now he doesn’t have to deal with her is up for debate.

Jonathan looks at Oliver, checking him over because as much as Oliver complains about the little things, he is also remarkable at glossing over the bigger things, like injuries. “I shouldn’t have asked you to do this,” he says as he finds the bruises- difficult; Oliver’s skin is dark enough to hide most bruises- along Oliver’s forearm, probably from trying to navigate among panicking crowds. “You’re not even an analyst, much less-”

“Don’t insult me,” Oliver chides. “I’m perfectly capable of denying you your whims. Besides, Felix does it all the time, and not even in-town training scenarios. This was a nice diversion, even if Henry is utterly without hope.”

Jonathan grits his teeth a little because Felix is the boss and what he says, goes, and Felix is ruthless about using their friendship to keep the world running as it should, and it’s one thing for Jonathan to ask for help in a training scenario and another entirely for Felix to send Oliver to the Middle East without Jonathan on the ground with him or calling the shots from the control room. “Ollie-”

“Don’t.” Oliver looks up from his report, and Jonathan is reminded again that under those corkscrew curls and vests and ties and slacks is a former Marine with eight years of service. The field may not be Oliver’s life now, but it was all he knew for the last six years of his military career. He knows what field work is like, both overt and otherwise, and that’s not even why he chose to follow Jonathan when Felix came calling. There is no mocking laughter in Oliver's eyes, no reassurance that he is fine, just the look of one who will not budge. “Jonathan. Just don’t.”

So Jonathan doesn’t.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “What the hell was that? One second you’re just standing there and the next, you’re trying to kill one of the better trainees.”

Ethuil strides into the conference room where all the trainees wait (six for now; training larger groups in the finer aspects of spycraft is inadvisable at best and deadly at worst).  She enjoys briefly the twitch of fear from three and the glower from Ben, and notes inwardly that Jonah and El can look her straight on without fear.  On the one hand, the fearless duo will be quicker to accept new lessons.  On the other, the fact that they don’t fear her means they probably don’t understand just how dangerous she actually is.  Which, Ethuil allows, has its uses.

“Jonathan will be arriving shortly,” she announces without preamble.  “Be prepared to give him an extensive analysis as to what went wrong and how to avoid making the same mistake in the future.”

“We’re not analysts,” Ben snaps.  Across the room, Henry and Lisa, a short redhead, flinch because they are former analysts.  Ben is young, a brawler, not one Felix had hand-picked (not like Jonathan and Ethuil herself had been) and has yet to understand that every field agent is an analyst and all the analysts (even Henry there in the corner) know how to kill.  “What’s the point-”

“The point,” Jonathan cuts him off, sharp, and as much as he and Ethuil loathe each other, she still prefers having him at her back than an open door, “is that a field asset with analytical skills is one better suited to make calls on the fly, instead of having to wait to be told what to do, like a puppet or a _child._ ”

Ben bristles but Jonah and El look like they understand and Marie forgets to be afraid and draws a few quick loops and curves in her ever-present notebook.  It’s not any sort of shorthand Ethuil recognizes, but she does not begrudge the older woman her ways.  Each asset, whether field or office, brings their own quirks to the job-

( _“Don’t_ dismiss _anything just because you think it’s_ normal. _” Hot breath rushes against Ethuil’s ear and she forgets to breathe because there is a knife at her spine.  “Notice_ everything _.  You’re no good to me dead, little girl.”)_

A hand touches Ethuil’s arm and she reacts without thinking, slamming the attached body to the ground.  El blinks up at her, stunned green eyes blinking once before switching to a guarded, carefully cultivated humor.  “Note to self,” the blonde says and because she has something of a survival instinct, has not moved from her sprawl on the ground with her neck under Ethuil’s hand.  Ethuil doesn’t know what she looks like now, but judging from the shocked faces around her (they were just trying to leave the room, Ethuil thinks, and almost relaxes but her _fight_ reaction is still firmly in control and does not) and the utter stillness from Jonathan at her back and the extra breathing pattern that means Max is here now, it’s not good.  “Don’t touch the Dragon Lady.”

“Damn straight,” Ethuil replies, outwardly unfazed by the use of her field code name while inside she catalogues them all, forcing herself to remember that they are _allies_ and not _targets_ , and straightens.  Henry takes a step back, white-faced, but Jonah keeps eyes on Ethuil as El gets her feet under her and stands.  The trainees have a better idea of how dangerous Ethuil is, but instead of feeling smug, she feels more exposed.  Ethuil tilts her head towards the door.  “I believe you have something to do.”

At that, Lisa pulls Henry out the door, followed by Ben who keeps eyeing Ethuil warily as they go.  Marie almost goes unnoticed (better than before, Ethuil thinks and tries not to remember the feel of a knife pressing against her vertebrae) and Jonah very unsubtly keeps himself between Ethuil and El as they leave.  Jonathan says nothing as he follows the trainees.  Max looks at Ethuil and she looks right back and does not flinch when he demands, “What the hell was that?  One second you’re just standing there and the next, you’re trying to kill one of the better trainees.”

“You know if I were trying to kill her, she would be dead,” Ethuil returns.  She hadn’t even pulled her handgun out.

Max does not acknowledge this fact.  “If working in the scenario today was cutting into your decompression time, you should have said something,” he tells her instead, like she’s a trainee herself.  “You said the job you just finished was easy, that you’d be fine to train.”

“I know what I said.”

“I don’t give a rat’s ass whatever else you lie about, as long as you don’t lie about your readiness status.  Even Mal at his most self-destructive never-”

“Oh my god,” Ethuil snaps and Ethuil’s usual vicious temper gets the better of her with one of the few people in the building more dangerous than her because Mal is a sticking point and what was Max doing away from Felix anyway, “I know he’s your golden standard but I really don’t give a fuck about your hero complex.”

Ethuil sees Max move (of course she does; he’s hard to miss and she trained both in shadows and blinding sun) but even though they are matched for speed, he is still far stronger and the handles of the cabinet bite into her back.  It isn’t an accident that he pins her so her feet dangle inches off the floor.  “Don’t you _ever_ speak about Mal,” Max says, brown eyes alight in a way that only happens when defending his old partners or when Felix has gone and set the world on fire.  “He’s better than you.”

“Of course he is,” Ethuil snorts, unladylike, and maybe she really should have taken a day off.  “This life doesn’t exactly attract the _noble_.”

Max releases her and stalks out.  Ethuil kicks the door shut behind him, and it only takes two minutes to make herself presentable again.  She takes another twenty before actually leaving the conference room.  If she is still a little brittle around the edges, there is no one here who would recognize it.

Later, when Ethuil brews her afternoon tea, Jonathan comes to her office.  “El should have known better than to get within arm’s distance,” he says and it is point of fact and probably his version of an olive branch.  Whatever it is, Ethuil breathes easier even as she pictures all the ways to kill him with his own tie pin.  It’s cathartic.  “I’ve got Ollie for training tomorrow and it’s all in-house, so-”

“Let’s spar,” Ethuil interrupts because Jonathan is kind to precious few and he should not include her in that list.

“God yes,” Jonathan replies and looks relieved.  Like he just realized that he was treating her like a friend.

“And I’m taking the next three days off.”

“Like that’ll be enough to make you pretty again after I break your face.”

Ethuil smirks as they head up to the gym.  “You think I’m pretty?”

Jonathan gags.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The trainees gossip, watch their superiors spar, and possibly come to incorrect conclusions.

“She’s fucking crazy.”

El doesn’t roll her eyes at Ben’s snarl, mostly because Jonah looks like he agrees and he still hasn’t left her side once since they reached the second-level training gym.  There are four gyms in the complex- the large one open for anyone’s use, the two for training teams, and the small one on the top floor that none of the six have ever entered, only know that they are not allowed to use.  Henry, easily the best analyst in the group, says it’s likely only for Felix’s personal use, but Lisa argues that she saw Ethuil go in there once.  El figures the small gym is just for Felix’s hand-picked cadre.  It’s easy to tell who _those_ people are because… well.  Like Ben says, they’re fucking crazy.

“It’s not like we haven’t known that since the start,” El says instead, and wraps her hands.  Jonah is already beating the heavy bag steadily, but will hold the bag for her when he finishes.

“I wonder what her last mission was,” Marie says thoughtfully.  She runs on the treadmill at a steep incline like it’s easy, ever-present notebook sitting on the display.  “I heard Leon was on the support team for it, but he won’t say.”

And there’s a thought to consider- if the Dragon Lady were fresh off assignment, she might have still been in the mindset today.  El frowns as she takes her turn with the punching bag.  When she voices this thought to Jonah- quiet, because while they all understand the ideas of classification, there are some thoughts that should not make it to the grapevine- he frowns as well.  “It’s never been an issue before,” he says.  “She’s always- until today, what she does in the field never bled into what she does with training.  It’s never happened with Puppeteer either, or even the Tailor.”

Jonathan, who earned his moniker before he made it to lead handler, is cool and competent always.  Oliver, who none of them understand being one of Felix’s chosen few- he isn’t a tactical genius like Jonathan or deadly in all the worst ways like Ethuil is rumored to be or batshit insane like all the rest are- is brisk and efficient and none of them really know what it is he does.  Not even Lisa and Henry know, and they have been here for a year.  He’s not an operative or a handler -at least according to the rosters, and Henry assures them all that the rosters are accurate, even if nothing else is- and he doesn’t strike any of them as an administrative assistant.  Marie maintains that Oliver’s code name must be relevant, but they’re all at a loss because the only good idea they have is a reference to a le Carré novel.  The obvious can’t be the case here.

El has just finished her turn with the bag when Kilty bursts through the doors.  “Oh my stars and garters why are you not in the other gym?” she demands, breathless and bright-eyed and seriously, El thinks, she needs to switch to decaf.  The field operative is in her yoga pants and barefoot and seems entirely unconcerned by the fact that training has all their guns pointed at her.  The exception is Ben, who has a fist of throwing knives ready.  Kilty goes on, waving off their weaponry because despite her bubblegum exterior, Gumby is one of the more experienced operatives here and an artist with explosives.  “Seriously, it’s Puppeteer versus the Dragon Lady.”

The six trainees practically trip over themselves to get to the next floor, skipping stairs and all but shoving each other.  Kilty cheats, of course, by leaping onto the stair railing just long enough to jump up and catch the pipes overhead and swing herself up to the next landing.  An operative happens to be on the landing at the time, and he shakes his head before going headfirst over the railing and doing what Kilty did in reverse.  It’s less graceful, less precise, but it gets the job done and he doesn’t land on Henry bringing up the rear, which is all that really counts right now.

The group slips into the gym, but they could have barged in with bells on for all the attention their arrival garners.  Half the afternoon staff has crowded around the ring to watch.  Jonathan and Ethuil both have taught hand-to-hand combat on several occasions (Ethuil always teaches her first lesson of a set in her customary four inch heels and pencil skirt and kicks a trainee’s ass just to make a point, and then shows up in gym gear like the rest of them for every day after) but to see two professionals of their caliber train is always a sight to behold.

El glances at Jonah and sees confirmation in his nod that he sees what she does.  Ethuil fights right now with none of the savage brutality she used to lay El out on the ground.  Each move is surgical in its precision, and a lesser opponent than Jonathan would be dead now.  Jonathan, however, gives as good as he gets, and if Ethuil is a scalpel, then he is a whittling knife- no less exact, but wearing her down whereas Ethuil seems intent on blood.  Jonathan backhands Ethuil and her head snaps in the trainees’ direction.  El catches a glimpse of something _raw_ in her eyes, a flicker of almost-concern in Jonathan’s eyes when she takes a fraction of a second too long to bring her foot up to kick Jonathan in the jaw.  El glances to Kilty standing a few feet away, the only one of their group with proper field experience.  The brunette has an appreciative smile on her face, clearly enjoying the show.  “Hands,” Lisa murmurs from El’s other side.  She keeps her eyes on the fight as she clarifies, “Kilty’s hands.  They’re her tell.”

When El sneaks another look, she sees Kilty’s fingers curled into fists shaking at her sides despite her relaxed posture and smile.  El looks back at Lisa.  “How did you know?”

The redhead shrugs.  “Analyst,” she explains.  “And there was a mission six months ago, right before they pulled me for this.  Ethuil and Kilty spent ten months undercover together.”

Lisa doesn’t add anything further, leaving El to wonder how close they got on that mission, how much they had to depend on each other.  If Ethuil feels about Kilty as strongly as Kilty feels about her.  El doesn’t know if it’s romantic- doesn’t know for sure if Kilty cares with more than just a sense of camaraderie or if Ethuil even _has_ it in her to be romantic, but El has never been that stressed watching Jonah spar with Ben- and makes a mental note to compare notes with Jonah later.

Ethuil spins and slams her heel into Jonathan’s side.  He grabs her leg and twists it, forcing Ethuil onto her hands, but she uses the new position to kick him in the chest and roll away.  Jonathan steps in just as Ethuil gets to her feet and launches a series of jabs and punches that Ethuil blocks and a roundhouse that leaves her staggering.  She swipes the back of her hand over her mouth.  It comes away bloody.  Kilty’s knuckles are white, the muscles in her arms standing out, and she keeps smiling easily.

Jonathan makes mocking commentary in French.  Ethuil responds in biting Greek, and Henry huffs out a quiet laugh.  Suddenly Jonathan moves in and has Ethuil pinned to the ground in a messy sprawl of limbs.  He dips his head next to her ear and Marie looks away politely, flushing slightly.  Ben gives Marie an unimpressed look.  “If they were a couple, they would set their house on fire three hours into the relationship- while they were both still inside.”

“I wouldn’t be too sure about that,” Leon says as he passes, smirking.

“There’s a betting pool,” Lisa tells the other trainees and smiles as she sees money change hands near the ring.  “For everything, it seems.”

The trainees start filing out with the rest of the crowd, but El lingers.  Jonathan rises, steps back, and lets Ethuil get up on her own.  He does not turn his back on her, not even when Oliver starts chiding him quietly.  Kilty walks over to Ethuil on light feet, expression careful until Ethuil looks up, fond as she says something quietly.  Kilty relaxes and smiles, lays a hand on Ethuil’s arm.  Ethuil stills, says something else, and Kilty nods.  El watches a moment longer, until Ethuil turns to gather her water bottle and shoes and Kilty stays right where she is, letting her hand drop.  El watches Ethuil’s posture, step, eyes.  There is no trace of Ethuil’s earlier lapse into brutality.

Outside, Jonah pushes off the wall as El comes to his side.  “Well?” he says and trusts El to know what he means.  Did she see what she was looking for, do they still trust the Dragon Lady, is here still their best option?

“Well, indeed,” El replies and Jonah nods and they join the other trainees.  El finds a note in her gym bag later and does not wonder how Kilty got into El’s locker.  The note is straight to the point, and El knows for sure it was Kilty even if dusting for prints turns up nothing.

_Whatever it is you’re thinking, you’re wrong._

 


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “It’s like you don’t want them to trust you.”  
> “I don’t need them to trust me- I just need them to do what I say.”
> 
> In which the trainees learn more, and Oliver is right about Jonathan being a softie.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Longer chapter this time, but at least the pace is picking up. Getting the cast all introduced took longer than I expected.

An explosion rocks the cameras, and two go to static.  Jonathan barks for someone to find him new eyes to cover the blindspots.  Below, the analysts hurry to task convenient satellites, both friendly and otherwise, anything they can, to keep comms up and eyes on their operative while keeping enemy eyes from doing the same.  Henry and Lisa have shoved aside two of the newer analysts and taken over their work stations while their fellow trainees watch silently.  Today, the screens do not show an exercise; they show an operative in Libya as a mission goes from fairly straightforward to anything but.

Focus, Jonathan thinks, and demands an update from the on-site handler.  This is not the first time he has had an op go badly, this will not be the last time.  Behind him, Oliver sits against the wall even though it puts wrinkles in his slacks and rumples his shirt and does not say a word.  He has his own work to do, but he is here and Jonathan cannot help but feel grateful.

“-teer, this is Sideshow,” the on-site handler’s comm crackles.  “Red got the goods to the extraction point before getting flushed out.  Blue is five minutes out from the extraction point, fifteen from Red.”

Small miracles.  “Get Blue to the extraction point,” Jonathan orders.  The large screen shows a young man with a burgundy shirt and khaki pants running down an alley.  Dirt smudges his face and he favors his left side as he ducks around a corner.  Henry switches cameras to keep the man on the large screen.

“Sir, we can’t just-“ Sideshow starts to argue but Jonathan does not have the time for this right now.

“You can and you will,” Jonathan cuts him off, utterly cool, and is fully aware that three of the trainees now stare at him in horror.  This is not a child’s game, there are lives at stake, and Jonathan is practical enough to know that losing one operative is preferable to losing three.  Red has been at this long enough that he should have the presence of mind to shoot himself before he can get caught.  Sideshow, too, has been working for Felix long enough that he knows how to handle himself on the ground without calling home for help.  This is special circumstances.  “Sideshow, get Blue and the goods out of there, now.”

“Copy that, Puppeteer.”

Jonathan signals Lisa and the screens showing Red at the front of the room go dark just as Red reaches a dead end.  All the screens on Jonathan’s own work station- half a floor up and separated by a low wall topped by glass reaching shoulder height; a control room in a control room, Oliver had called it once- still show Red and his pursuers.  In the main room, the analysts keep eyes on Sideshow and Blue while another handler converses with the transport out.  Ben starts for Jonathan, shrugs off Jonah’s hand when the blond tries to slow him down.  Red goes for his knife and brings it to his own throat as his pursuers aim to become his captors.  El gets in Ben’s way and Jonathan doesn’t need to see her face to know she’s borrowing from Ethuil’s bag of tricks.  Gunfire fills Jonathan’s headset, precise shots that drop each of Red’s pursuers.  The trainees reach a consensus and all of them, Henry and Lisa included, head for Jonathan.  Red flicks a glance at a camera, nods in gratitude to someone in the cameras’ single blindspot, and runs away.  Jonathan taps his mike to a private, jam-proof frequency.  “I owe you one, Mal.”

Red’s voice crackles through the comms, says he’s lost his pursuers, will be at the rendezvous in ten.  The trainees stare at the screens in the front of the room, momentarily derailed.  Sideshow calls for the extraction team to wait, and this time Jonathan lets them.  It’s back to being Sideshow’s op now.  The trainees reach Jonathan but stay on their side of the partition.  “We want answers,” Jonah says bluntly.

Jonathan puts down his headset.  Oliver is nowhere to be seen.  “So find them.”

“Why didn’t you-”

“Somewhere not here,” Jonathan clarifies as he saves the last few minutes of footage to a separate server from the rest of the logs, and wipes it from every camera and database but his own.  “Or, you know what, go ahead and look for it here.  I’m off to lunch.”

~~

“You could be less of an asshole,” Oliver greets Jonathan as he walks into Oliver’s office.  It is nowhere near the more populated areas or anyplace the trainees would think to look.

“Less interesting like that,” Jonathan replies and settles down in one of Oliver’s guest chairs.  He taps the shopping bags sitting on the other chair.  “I see you went back.”

Oliver rolls his eyes; he knows Jonathan had cameras tracking him the entire way to and from where he had stashed the clothing during the failure of yesterday’s training.  “It was on _sale_ , of course I went back, and I see what you’re trying to do here.  You could have let them know you had a backup plan.”

Jonathan stands abruptly and paces through Oliver’s office.  “They need to see firsthand that we have to make the hard choices,” he says.  Anyone else he would face dead-on, unflinching, but Oliver has known him for years, before Felix came into the picture.  Oliver knows that Jonathan didn’t think the rescue would be on time, and exactly how much it hurts Jonathan to have to leave people behind.  Oliver had told Jonathan he was too kind for this sort of work.  Jonathan had replied that he did not have the luxury of saying no.  Two days later, he was working with Felix.  A week after, Oliver had followed.

Setting down his pencil, Oliver leans back.  “And how do you expect Red to explain his miraculous escape?”

“I’m sure he’ll come up with something.”

“It’s like you don’t want them to trust you.”

“I don’t need them to trust me- I just need them to do what I say.”

Oliver opens his mouth, thinks better of it and switches the subject.  “So have they figured out what it is I do here yet?” he inquires and flips a page in his notebook before picking up his pencil again.

Jonathan laughs.  “Ollie, _I_ don’t know what it is you do here, either.”

Oliver points his pencil at his oldest friend.  “That, my good man, is blatant falsehood.”

Jonathan catches a glimpse of himself in the mirror behind one of a half-dozen dummies in the office.  Gold eyes are a hair too wide, expression verging on manic.  He’ll have to fix that before he leaves Oliver’s office.  “True,” Jonathan admits, and nudges the shopping bags again.  “You know there’s no way in _hell_ Felix is going to let you claim these as a business expense.”

Oliver sniffs.  “He can try to stop me.”

When Jonathan passes the mirror again, he looks a little closer to normal.  He still stays in Oliver’s office for the entirety of his lunch hour.  After, he summons the trainees to the usual conference room.  Ben still looks discontent, but Jonathan is fast learning that discontent is his default setting.  Lisa and Marie look thoughtful, Henry is practice his poker face.  Jonah and El have patient expressions on their faces, as though they can wait Jonathan out.  Which they probably can; Jonathan has better things to do with his time than wait for things to happen, such as actually _make_ things happen.  “Well, tell me what you figured out,” he says.

“If Sideshow or Blue had gone after Red, he would have run straight into a group of hostiles and been captured or killed,” Lisa replies.  “Blue’s mission history shows that she would have been the muscle for the operation, and so the assumption would be that she would only know enough to protect Red so he could get the job done, so her loss would be less catastrophic than losing Sideshow or Red.”

“We don’t assume,” Henry continues, “and as you said, every operative is an analyst.  A closer look at Blue’s record shows that she is intelligent, would have easily been able to piece together more details of the mission than would have been given to her.  Losing her would have been just as bad as losing Red or Sideshow.”

“So the next question would be,” Ben drawls, “now that we’ve established losing anyone is bad, and that there was no way for Sideshow or Blue to rescue Red before being compromised themselves, is what could’ve been done to avoid this entire clusterfuck.”

Jonathan’s expression does not change.  “What did you figure out?”

He listens carefully as they begin outlining different scenarios.  Maybe they figured out something he couldn’t.  Maybe one day he’ll stop owing Mal. 

“There’s always the idea of sending out a different team entirely in the first place,” Ethuil says from the doorway.  She looks almost like a normal person, heels only two inches high instead of the usual four, a black leather jacket complimenting her deep red top and black pants.  Only Jonathan here knows what the changes mean.  Ethuil nods at the diagram of the city Marie drew on the whiteboard.  “Try it all again, but with Jonathan, Kilty, and me.  Jonathan, a word.”

Jonathan steps out into the hall with Ethuil, and does not protest when she leads the way to the back stairwell.  “You were supposed to be off for another two days,” he says, taking in her travel clothes.  “Didn’t Max give you shit about yesterday?”

“Sometimes things come up,” Ethuil says dismissively, but her eyes are shadowed.

Jonathan does not like Ethuil at all, and the feeling is mutual.  Too many days in the field together, however, mean that they actually give a damn about each other’s mission readiness.  Jonathan was not the handler for Ethuil’s last mission, and does not know the details, but he can tell that she isn’t at her best right now.  Functional, yes, but in their line of work, they need to be more than that.  “They should send someone else.”

“There _is_ no one else.”  Ethuil starts ticking off her fingers.  “Blue is still en route from Libya.  Oliver and Kyouji aren’t _actually_ women _or_ field operatives, no matter how many times you and Felix put Oliver into the field, your girls in there are far from ready…”

“Kilty, then.”  Jonathan gets a sinking feeling about the sort of mission at stake.  Lisa and Marie aren’t ready for out of country field work yet (if the mission were in-country, Ethuil’s heels would be three inches instead of two, and she would still be sporting a pencil skirt).  El has prior experience in the field and Ethuil _knows that_ , Felix knows too and has no issue sending his newer recruits out with their trainers for backup.  He knows who trained Ethuil, and that not allowing her breathing space when she needs it could get people – allies, enemies, Ethuil herself – killed.  Kilty has filled in for Ethuil in the past, this should be no different-

Ethuil snorts and replies, “I’d love to see you try to get Kilty to go into a German BDSM dungeon-”

“You two did that in France, same difference-”

“-as a sub-”

“Don’t even try to con me into thinking she wore the pants in the French mission, I was your _handler_ for that one, in case you forgot-”

“Alone.”  Ethuil does not blink as she clarifies, “I’m going in as a sub to a very particular dungeon, no partner masquerading as a dom, no wire, and no back-up in the country with me.”

That’s risky, but doable.  It does not explain the tension that, now that they are away from the trainees, radiates from Ethuil.  Distantly, Jonathan wonders why she is letting him see her worry; they are not friends and showing weakness in this place is something she would never- something clicks.  “Ethuil,” he says and knows that his voice has gone very, very calm.  He gives a damn about her status because she is an _asset_ and they have to work together often and _that_ , he tells himself viciously, is the _only_ reason he cares.  It’s a good thing he doesn’t care about her half as much as he cares about Oliver, he would be going to give Felix a piece of his mind over this if that were the case.  “Do you drop?”

Ethuil flinches and Jonathan sees red.  He reaches for the stairwell door.

The next thing Jonathan sees is the overhead light coming back into focus.  Ethuil is perched on the railing of the staircase, far enough to be out of arm’s reach, close enough that it would take her no time at all to inflict more damage on his person.  “Don’t make me take you down again,” Ethuil warns.  She looks closer to normal, but that’s not good enough.

“You’re an _actual sub_ going into a dungeon without a partner you trust and you’re going to drop into subspace _on purpose_ ,” Jonathan snaps.  He gets up and the world spins a little, but he’s still _furious_.  Jonathan knows only a little about the dom and sub dynamic (mostly from books he would never be caught dead reading) but he knows this is a dangerous idea.  “What if you can’t come up when you need to?  Or hell, what if he or she brings you back up and doesn’t do it right?  Dammit, is that what happened on your last mission?”

“Last mission doesn’t matter,” Ethuil retorts, which is as good as a _yes._

“Get Kilty to do it.”  The other field agent isn’t a sub, but she can play the part well enough and she did it in France without issue.  If anything goes wrong and Ethuil _dies_ , Jonathan will be short his sparring partner for practicing dirty fighting and one of the few people in this place that he actually considers his equal.  Equal only, he assures himself.  He can worry about his overreaction later, when he’s done with the trainees and alone with Oliver.

Ethuil scoffs, trying to collect herself.  “She doesn’t have the auto-recall I do when I’ve dropped.”

“I don’t want to know how you figured that out,” Jonathan snarls and not for the first time wishes that there would be no repercussions if he shot Kyouji in the face.  Kyouji taught Jonathan some different facets of spycraft when Felix first brought Jonathan in, but Jonathan came here before Ethuil and recognized in her Kyouji’s training.  Judging by their familiarity and the ease with which she trains with him, Kyouji started _young_ with her.  Jonathan has _opinions_ about training children.  He wonders how it took him so long to figure this out about Ethuil.

Ethuil just looks at Jonathan.  “You don’t even like me, Jonathan.”

“It’s mutual, so why are you telling me all this?”  They aren’t friends.  Ethuil could have left on this job as easily as she had the last one and Jonathan wouldn’t have known until she came back.  They generally operate that way if they are not working together.

Deep brown eyes have not left Jonathan’s face.  Under the lights here, her eyes look red.  “You’re not on the team monitoring me from here.  I want you to have eyes on me anyway.”

“I can’t do anything from here if something goes wrong.”  And Mal is nowhere near Germany.

“I’ll make it out alive.”  Of this Ethuil seems absolutely sure.  “But… depending on what shape I’m in, I might need… help.”  Ethuil ducks her head, suddenly very human, and Jonathan has never seen her like this.  She goes on, “I left a number in your planner.  If I’m not exactly as I should be when I get back, I need you to call that number.  I might not be in the right mindset to know to do it myself if I don’t come up right.”

Jonathan nods.  “And if you don’t make it out?”  Jonathan has a practical heart.  He knows agents don’t always make it back.  Today’s training notwithstanding, of course, when it looks like the end of the line for an agent, it usually really is.

Ethuil starts down the stairs.  “Call it anyway, and get yourself and Oliver out of here and don’t look back.”

Jonathan goes back to the trainees.  “Tell me what you’ve figured out,” he says and makes a note in his planner under a number he didn’t write.  Tomorrow they’ll be learning about extracting an agent from a hostile environment.

**Author's Note:**

> I almost never public!post original work, but I figured outside opinions would be good to have. Crossposted to my tumblr: http://courtofimmortals.tumblr.com/


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